


darling, won't you lay with me in the mess that we both made

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ... until SOMEONE shows up in her life, Adultery, Cheating, F/M, Modern AU, Smut, as in jon ends up banging his step-mum, but hey - she's only in it for the money anyway, disillusioned sansa no longer believes in love, ex-con!jon, gold-digger!sansa, jon and reggie do not have a good relationship, or any kind of relationship really, reggie t is a knob and treats sansa like a young trophy wife, sansa x rhaegar - but there's no love there folks, soap opera type shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Jon felt the need to rub at his eyes. It was like he was seeing a mirage or something. Seriously, if the corny pick up line,‘what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’hadn’t been written for this exact situation then Jon doesn’t know any other more fitting. Not that he’s going to actually say those words to the redhead who just parked her cute little butt two bar stools away.





	1. Beautiful Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Posting another thing because why the fuck not ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Jon felt the need to rub at his eyes. It was like he was seeing a mirage or something. Seriously, if the corny pick up line, _‘what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this’?_ hadn’t been written for this exact situation then Jon doesn’t know any other more fitting. Not that he’s going to actually _say_ those words to the redhead who just parked her cute little butt two bar stools away.

He takes a swig of his beer as he eyes the expensive looking heels on her feet and the figure-hugging pastel coloured dress she’s wearing. It suits her. It’s pretty like her eyes and her hair. _Fuck_ – even her lips are pretty. A pretty shade of pink that he’d like to see wrapped around his cock.

_Shit._

Jon clears his throat and looks away, resolving that he really needs to stop the habit of letting his mind wander down salacious avenues, especially when he’s in a public place. The thing is, when you’ve been used to spending a big chunk of your day alone in a prison cell, you get pretty good at entertaining yourself to pass the time.

It’s not like that out here – out here he almost feels over-stimulated. Even here at Hobb’s, an absolute _dive_ of a bar, and especially after seeing an angel like that redhead two stools away. Jon finds he can’t bring himself to avoid looking at her for too long, so he turns and sees that she’s greeting him with a downright heart-stopping smile.

“Hi,” she says, leaning his way a little as she puts something into her fancy little bag. She scoots across to seat herself on the stool next to his.

_Is this really happening?_ Jon hasn’t actually talked face to face with a woman that wasn’t his parole officer in...well... what felt like a _really_ long time. He glanced around, still not quite believing that this gorgeous creature had in fact walked into this kind of place. “Hi yourself,” he says, taking another slow sip from his beer bottle. The woman’s crystal blue eyes rake him over as he drinks, aware that he’s watching her too. It felt a little odd to be so brazen about literally eye-fucking a stranger but... well, _she started it._

The redhead must be pleased with what she sees because the smile she gives him is full of beautiful sin. “Can I get you a drink?” That’s what you do when you’re talking to a pretty woman, right? It’s been so long, Jon thinks he’s plum forgotten.

“I’ll have a lemon drop please,” she says grinning and tucking some of that gorgeous copper red hair of hers behind her ear.

Jon leans in, pleased when she mimics him and their shoulders brush. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, miss, but this here establishment don’t seem to be in the business of makin’ fancy cocktails and the like.” He points with the lip of his bottle to behind the bar. “The best you could hope for is beer, whiskey or tequila if you’re feelin’ exotic I reckon.” Jon turns his head and finds his new lady-friend to be very, very close. He likes it. She smells like moonblossoms.

“I better have a tequila, then,” she says with a twitch of her lips. “You should too.”

“You celebratin’ somethin’...miss?”

His fancy new bar companion pauses then, seeming to deliberate. “Yes,” she finally says, “I guess I am celebrating. And you can call me Alayne.”

“Jon,” he nods and offers his hand. She takes it, making Jon lick his lips at just how soft her skin is. It’s been a mighty long time since he’s felt anything so soft. He wonders what the skin of her thighs would feel like beneath his hands. He releases her from his grasp regretfully and signals for the barman to pour their shots.

“And what about you, Jon?” she asks, “are you celebrating anything tonight?”

His gaze drops to her berry pink lips again. “I sure hope so, Alayne,” he says, liking the way she wiggles a bit on her stool at that.

They chat a while. Alayne seems a little evasive at times, but that’s alright. Everyone has their secrets Jon guesses. He doesn’t mind admitting to himself that he’d like to take a peek at hers though. Besides, he’s not exactly laying himself out like a library book for all to read either. _“Visiting distant family,”_ he answers when she asks what he’s doing on Dragonstone Island - which is sort of true.

He’s sure kept his father at a distance at least. And that’s the way Jon had preferred it all his life. But now – _now_ – Jon had to swallow his pride and try to connect with the asshole. You see, when you’ve worked for a drug cartel and have just got done serving your prison sentence, folks don’t seem to be clamouring over each other to offer you an honest job. On top of that, he owes his boss, Mance a serious sum of money for not only the car he totalled when he was trying to shake off the cops, but the full duffel bag of profits they found in the trunk when they finally caught him.

This is how men like Mance get people to stick around and be loyal. Jon didn’t want that, he wanted out. He didn’t want to have to return to crime to work off his debt, so instead he’s swallowing a whole lot of sour pride and is gearing up to pretend to be that son that Rhaegar Targaryen so desperately wanted him to be all these years.

You see, Jon’s dad is loaded. We’re talking _‘loaded-loaded’._ And Jon knows that the man has been desperate for his son to step into his shoes and learn from him before finally taking over the family business.

_Whatever._

As long as he pays off Mance and starts afresh with a new, totally legal life, he can manage to suck it up to daddy-dearest for a few years. Even if his father is an utter prick.

He’s not going to go into all that here with Alayne, although there is one aspect that he feels is only fair she’s aware of, should anything come of this chance meeting. He looks down to where her pinky finger is gently stroking against his there on the bar. _God damn,_ she’s a flirty little thing. “So, uh,” he says, pulling his hand away and clearing his throat, “I should probably tell you something.”

She sits up straighter at that. The barman brings them another round of tequila shots and Jon forgoes the salt and lemon and just necks the liquor, welcoming the burn down to his chest. “I... well, I’ve just got out from doing time,” he tells her, just ripping it off like a band-aid and not quite knowing what to expect from it.

She blinks at him. “Oh.”

Jon’s not sure what to make of that ‘oh’.

“What did you do?” Alayne pulls her hand away from anywhere near his and Jon supposes that’s a fair reaction. He could be a sex offender for all she knows.

“I moved some stuff around.”

“Drugs?”

“Hm-mm,” Jon pauses to down the last of his beer.

“But you’re not involved with any of that anymore?”

“No, ma’am.”

Jon watches as Alayne let that new bit of information sink in. She seems to be staring at his face, either trying to see the truth or catch a lie, he’s not sure. Whatever she finds there, she looks to be satisfied. “Well, we all have our sins,” she said, knocking back what must be her fourth shot.

Jon felt his lips pull into a grin. “Is that so?” he said, letting his eyes touch on every inch of Alayne that he could. She was just so damned beautiful to look at.

“Uh-huh,” she nods, mirth dancing in her crystal blue eyes as she slides a hand up his thigh. “How do feel about committing a sin with me tonight, Jon?”

He didn’t mind her giggling when he whipped out his wallet faster than anyone could humanly blink, slamming a wad of bills down on the bar and hollering to the barman to keep the fucking change. She grabbed him by the hand, and to his surprise, led him to one of the bar’s restrooms.

Alayne locks the door behind them and Jon wastes no time in pushing her up against the thing, her breathy giggle swallowed by his hungry mouth. It felt good to press his body up against hers, it felt amazing to have her hands in his hair, and it felt absolutely fucking fantastic to be the one making this gorgeous woman moan into their kiss and hitch one of her mile-long legs over his hip and grind against him.

“_Fuck!”_ Jon hisses, moving his body against hers. “You’re so beautiful. So, so beautiful. _Perfect.”_ He’s blabbering now as his mouth moves to the creamy skin of her throat. Alayne lifts her chin to allow him access to suckle as his hands skim up and down her curves. She hums contentedly like a pussycat purring from the attention it was receiving.

And Jon would gladly give her all the attention she wants.

She ducks then, nipping lightly at his earlobe – an action that causes him to buck his hips against her. “You like that, baby?” Alayne whispers, grinding harder, rubbing herself on the straining erection in his jeans.

Jon groans. “I like everything about you, sweetheart.”

“Do you have a condom?”

Shit. Does he? It’s been so long, Jon’s forgotten. He fumbles for his wallet in his back pocket, his hips still pressing into her. “Yeah,” he says with huge relief as he holds up the shiny silver packet he found tucked away inside.

“Oh thank the Gods!” Alayne says giggling before peppering his lips with more kisses. 

“How do you wanna do this, love?” Jon asks, looking around at their limited options.

Alayne slips from his grasp and moves to the sink. “Over here,” she says, grinning at him from over her shoulder as she leans forward, hands braced on the white porcelain. “I want you to fuck me from behind,” she turns her head back so she’s facing forward again, her mischievous eyes watching him from the reflection in front of her. “And I want to watch you in the mirror as you do.”

_Seven fucking Hells, OKAY! _

Reaching under the skirt of her dress, Alayne begins to pull a pair of cotton-candy-pink panties down her legs and Jon finds himself standing there in a bit of stupor from just watching her do so. She unhooks the flimsy-and-yet-expensive-looking scrap of fabric from around her stiletto heel and then looks as though she’s not sure what to do with it. Jon comes to his senses and reaches out, taking her underwear from her hand. “These are mine now,” he tells her, stuffing them into his back pocket and liking the way her teeth sink into her plump bottom lip.

Jon growls and drops to his knee behind her. Looking a little puzzled, Alayne makes a move to turn around. “What are-?” Jon silences her with his hands reaching out to her hips to keep her in place, facing the mirror.

“Future-me will be pretty pissed if I don’t take this opportunity to get a taste,” he tells her, pushing her dress up over her hips to reveal her naked flesh. Her ass is perky and round and Jon just wants to bite it if he’d being honest, but that’s not what he meant. He hears Alayne’s breath hitch in her throat from above when he guides her to bend over the sink and lift one leg, resting her knee on the cold porcelain. Jon moves forward and allows himself a playful nip of one of her soft cheeks before he begins to nuzzle at her thighs, all the while his rough hands skimming up and down her long, creamy legs.

He takes a long lick with the flat of his tongue and groans to himself, his eyes fluttering closed. “_Fuck,_ you taste good.” She shudders at that and moans when he dives in for more of her, pressing his face as close as he can get while he finds her clit and swipes his tongue from side to side over it. “_Mmmm,”_ he says, a deep, pleased rumble muffled by her pussy. Alayne sucks in a breath and starts rocking back and forth over his mouth which only served to make him repeat the noise. Jon mouthed and slurped and latched onto her little bundle of nerves to suck and make her squeal. He could die right now, here in the restroom of Hobb’s bar and die an extremely happy man. No Mance, no rich daddy to suck up to, just this Gods-damned angel of a woman who’s allowing him to taste her pretty little pussy.

_“Unmmm...Jon, oh Gods!”_ he can hear her moan as she continues to grind against his mouth. Fuck! Has he ever been this turned on? He doesn’t think so. He’s going to have to stop before he makes a mess in his jeans.

Jon reluctantly stands and looks over Alayne’s shoulder, into the reflection of her hooded blue eyes in the mirror. Her lips are parted and she’s panting a little. The image is a very, very pretty one. “You sure about this?” he asks. “You’ve had a few drinks and-“

“I’m sure,” Alayne tells him, peeking over her shoulder. “Please, _fuck me,_ Jon.” She pushes her ass back to bump against his still woefully clothed erection.

“Yes, ma’am,” he grins, wondering how fast he can tear into that condom packet.


	2. Oh Shit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short one to keep this going.
> 
> FYI - 'Dgn' is going to be short for 'Dragons' as in the currency :)

_Shit._

Sansa stared at that second pink line on her pregnancy test.

_Shit._

She tore into the packet to get another. Perhaps that was a false result? _Oh Gods, oh Gods!_ Please let that be a false result!

How could she be so stupid?!

_“Oh shit,” Jon chuckled to himself, nuzzling the back of her neck as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. “I haven’t come that hard since... well... I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard.”_

_Sansa could say the same. Her legs were wobbly and her whole body felt like it was floating. She didn’t want it to end. She didn’t want to crash back down to reality and she didn’t want Jon to release her from his hold and slip out of her. But he did. He had to._

_“Oh shit,” he repeated, only this time with a tone of panic. Sansa turned around to see him stood there, jeans and underwear around his ankles and used condom in hand. “It broke...” he looked up to Sansa with tender concern on his features. “Alayne, I’m so sorry. It... I don’t know how long it’s been in my wallet but it was before I went inside.”_

_Sansa gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry, it was an accident.” To be honest, she’s not surprised what with the way he went to town on her – especially if it’s an old condom. Sansa’s not sure she’s ever been fucked like that before, she can still feel it – feel him. What surprised her though, was that it wasn’t only hard and urgent, but with obvious care for her pleasure too. He kept slowing down his strokes inside of her, his fingers rubbing on her clit as he panted into the side of her neck that he wants to make it last, that she felt so good and tight around him and that it would be a crime if he finished before he got to feel her come on his cock._

_“I’ll get hold of the morning after pill,” she told him, pulling her dress back down over her ass with a wiggle. Not that she really needed it. Rhaegar’s been trying to get himself a legitimate heir to his fortune in her belly for the past two years of their marriage, all to no avail. Her husband refuses to see a fertility specialist, citing that poor secretary he’d knocked up in his twenties. No, apparently Rhaegar Targaryen was not at fault at all. So it must be her, right?_

Well, it turns out, it’s not her, because the second test comes back positive too. Why didn’t she just get that morning after pill like she told Jon she would?

_Because you were ashamed. Because, like the stupid little girl you are, you buried your head in the sand and pretended like it had never even happened._

_Shit._

What is she going to do now?! Sansa knew there was only one answer to that. Lies and deceit on top of more lies and deceit. _That’s_ how you survive in this world. _That’s_ how you prosper. And _that’s _how you don’t get hurt.

The little girl Sansa once was would be absolutely mortified at the woman she has become – bitter and false, married to a man for his money without a care for love. Love is not meant for her, if it even exists at all. The best she can hope for is to fill that space with everything her husband can provide for her while she turns a blind eye to his wandering one.

About half a year into their marriage, Sansa once thought she could fill the emptiness with children of her own. But the longer it took for her to fall pregnant, the more of that particular hope slipped away through her fingertips too.

She had been working herself up to broaching the subject of going to see a fertility specialist again. Surely, after so long, her husband must see that they might be in need of a little help? But when she raised her fist to knock on his study door, the grunts and giggles coming from behind were unmistakeable. He always did like the pretty maids.

Sansa had been upset and angry. Not that Rhaegar hadn’t done this sort of thing before, she knew. But it had just been the timing of it all. Here she is, fretting over a baby that they may never have and he’s in there, his cock buried inside one of their cleaners, or the cook, or his secretary from work – whichever pussy took his fancy that day. Her heart was not hurt, for it did not belong to him, but her pride was bruised.

Sansa had never strayed from her marriage bed before. But God damn Rhaegar Targaryen to all the Seven Hells and back again! His money was good to her, but he was not. Couldn’t Sansa have a little fun too?

_And look what mess that fun got you in!_

Sansa took one last look at the pregnancy tests before throwing them into her little bathroom trash bin. She went to walk away, but then, fearing they’d be discovered, trotted back to stuff some toilet paper on top of the tests before looking around her bathroom for more things to discard and hide her shame. She emptied a bottle of her expensive bubble bath down the sink and dropped the bottle on top. When that hadn’t seemed enough, she opened her 300Dgn lotion and squirted its contents into the bin too. Her maids may think she’s gone nuts but at least they probably won’t go snooping around in her trash.

She stood there, staring at the bin, mentally trying to remember when the last time Rhaegar had come to her room to sleep with her was? He’d been away for near a month on business in Essos and hadn’t touched her more than a peck to her cheek since his return. And before that? Much the same. _Damn it_, if she’s to pass this baby off as her husband’s they need to have sex soon. Like today.

Sansa takes a breath and resolves to busying herself with preparation for that. She curls her hair and applies her make up with perfect precision before donning the black negligee he’d bought for her recently, along with the matching silk robe. Looking at the time, Sansa knew her husband would be taking his whisky in his study around about now, so that’s where she heads.

Swallowing down the memories of the last time she’d attempted to knock on this door, Sansa taps her knuckles on the wood swiftly. Hopefully he’s not been bothering any maids today and Sansa doesn’t have to think about _that_ as he’s inside her.

She hears her husband mumble to someone. Her stomach drops and her anger spikes at the same time. She can’t afford to confront him though, she needs to sleep with him if her plan has any hope of working. The door opens a crack and as Rhaegar Targaryen takes in that his visitor is his wife, he smiles, looking pleased. That takes her aback a little.

“Sansa, darling,” he beams, opening the door further. “Come in, I’ve someone here I’d like you to meet!”

She’s caught a little off guard as her feet step numbly into her husband’s study, realising too late that she’s not dressed for company. She pulls the robe tighter around herself, expecting one of Rhaegar’s business partners to stand from the occupied leather smoking chair sat by the fireplace.

Who does stand to greet her however, is the very man she’d hoped she’d never see again while simultaneously wishing to meet him in her dreams each night.

“Sansa,” Rhaegar says, taking her hand and leading her closer to the man – the man whose eyes had widened at the sight of her and then promptly narrowed at hearing her true name. The man whom she remembers staring at her reflection as he panted and whispered filthy things over her shoulder, watching himself fuck her in the mirror of a dive bar bathroom just two weeks ago. “This is my estranged son, Jon. He’s recently reached out to reconnect, isn’t that wonderful?” her husband says gleefully as she and Jon stare at one another. Is his heart wanting to burst free of his chest like hers is? “Jon, this is my beautiful wife, Sansa.”

Jon’s eyes widen briefly once more before he sweeps her up and down with a slow gaze, all the little dirty puzzle pieces fitting together in his mind. He licks his lips and arches a brow at her before offering his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you... _Sansa,”_ he finishes, ducking to press a kiss to her knuckles.”

_Oh shit._


	3. what now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok - so I only have a very vague outline for where this one is going so all I'm really doing is going with it and having fun - and I hope you guys have fun with it too.
> 
> thank you so so much to all of those who have commented so far on this - it means a lot to me!

Jon had been more than a little disappointed when the phone number Alayne had given him after their encounter turned out to be a fake one. Now it all made sense.

Of course you don’t give out your real name or number when you’re out cruising for extra-marital liaisons in the bathrooms of Dragonstone Island’s dive bars.

First, when he’d seen her dressed in that fancy silky thing, Jon thought he might’ve been hallucinating. But then the world came back into focus and his god-awful father along with it. Seven fucking hells he hated that man, and even more so when he heard him utter the word ‘wife’ with her standing right there in front of him.

He’d fucked his dad’s wife? _He’d fucked his dad’s wife?!_

The best sex, with the most beautiful woman Jon had ever had the privilege to lay his hands on, to kiss, to taste... was his father’s wife?!

A dark part of him found this all highly amusing whilst a large part was also in despair. Why is she married to _him?_ Why does a guy old enough to have a son in his twenties have a wife more than half his age?

_Money._

Everything comes down to it. He can see it in her sky blue eyes as she stutters a greeting here in his father’s fancy study.

Why else would she be rushing out to pick up some stranger to fuck?

His cock twitched as he bent to lay a kiss to her hand, remembering how tight she’d gripped at his hair when they were panting and grinding down on one another. Jon’s eyes flick to his father. The lucky bastard can have her whenever he wants.

“Have we met before?” he asks her with a sly grin.

“Um, no, I don’t think so.”

Jon cocks his head to the side. “Are you sure? You look familiar... not related to anyone called Alayne, are you?” She shakes her head, eyes darting to her husband. “It’s just... you look a lot like this girl I picked up at Hobb’s Bar a couple of weeks back. It’s... _uncanny_.” He looked her up and down with a smirk.

“Hobb’s?” Rhaegar chimed in and not for the first time Jon really wished he didn’t need this fucker’s help. “What are you doing fishing for bites at that dive, son?” He said, chuckling. “I’ll take you to some classier hunting grounds with finer prey.” Rhaegar finished his Gods awful statement with a wink before taking a swig of his whisky.

_Shit, you really are an idiot, huh?_ If he didn’t need him right now, he’d like to give Rhaegar a piece of his mind. Instead, Jon holds his tongue and glances back towards the beauty in the room.

“So, do I have to call you ‘mom’, then?” he smirked, taking a sip from his own drink as he watched her. The woman whom he now knew to be ‘Sansa’ flushed a deep pink. It was a pretty colour really and Jon decided he liked seeing it very much.

“I...” her mouth opened and closed before she could finally push through and get those pesky words out from between her pretty painted lips. “I have to go.” And with that she practically bolted from the room.

Jon chewed at his lip. As much as he would love to carry on the rest of the evening sat beside a roaring fire pretending to be interested in what his _dear old dad_ is saying, he wanted to talk to her more than anything right now. “Excuse me while I use your restroom,” he said as politely as possible, complete with a serviceable smile.

When he opened the door, Jon found that he’d stepped out into the corridor in time to see Sansa yank open another door down the hall. She glanced back at him, chest rising and falling as they stared at one another. He wasn’t going to be the first to break their eye contact, that’s for sure.

She stared at him for a long while, making Jon wonder what was going through that pretty gold-digging head of hers? Does she think her game is all over now? Does she think he’s going to tell his father that the ‘bite’ he caught at Hobb’s Bar was actually his wife? Jon could imagine all these questions and more running wild in her mind before she slipped into her room and closed the door behind her.

_Well, I know where I’m visiting tonight._

***

She heard the door open and click shut again and Sansa knew who it was that had crept to her room an hour after their surprise reunion. She should be calm, Jon could really land her in the shit here (well, _even more_ in the shit than she is already anyway), but Sansa has spend that past hour stewing in her own nerves. “What the fuck was that in the study?” she blurts, whirling around.

Jon’s brows shot up. “In the study? How about, _what the fuck was that in the bathroom of a seedy bar a few weeks ago?”_ He stood squarely, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

The hair at the back of her neck prickled upward and she swallowed down the scorching hot guilt that threatened to burn her throat. “_You tell me,”_ she said, crossing her arms, “you were the one who couldn’t stop grunting and groaning about how tight and wet I am, how good I feel to fuck.”

Jon straightened at that. He looked like she’d slapped him. _Good._ His right hand flexed and twitched at his side. She should’ve never gone to that dumb dive of a bar, she should’ve never even entertained flirting with the handsome guy fresh out of prison. She definitely shouldn’t have slipped her wedding rings from her finger and hid them in her clutch and then led Jon Snow to the bathroom to allow him to-to.... knock her up!

“That was before I knew you _were married to my father!”_

“Well, how I was I meant to know you were his son?!”

“How about – and here’s a novel idea, but hear me out for a second – you don’t fuck other people while you’re married?! _Period.”_

Sansa stalked forward. “You know nothing, Jon Snow.”

“Is that right?” he snickered. “I know nothing, huh? Why don’t you tell me, _mother-dearest?_ Enlighten your _new son_ about the ways of the world while trying to forget how good it felt to have me sucking on your clit.”

She slapped him for real that time, his expression of shock a short-lived treat before he was smirking at her again. “Why are you here, Jon?” she asked. “After all these years of wanting nothing to do with your father, and now you come sniffing around?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you? You don’t want to reconnect with Rhaegar, you’re in it just for the money.”

Jon’s eyes briefly drop to her lips. “Well, that makes two of us, don’t it, sweetheart?”

She wants to strike him again. He’s right. She knows it, he knows it, the staff at Dragonstone Manor know it, and even her husband must know it, on some level. Rhaegar’s many things, but he’s not so naive to think that Sansa is with him through love and desire alone, if, at all. This all makes her want to strike Jon harder. She raises her hand to do so, but Jon catches her wrist with a hand so burning hot she felt like her whole body had been set aflame. He was breathing heavy as his eyes dip to her mouth again.

He was going to kiss her.

She could see it happening before he even began to lean in. Sansa didn’t know if she wanted to shove him away or welcome that sinful mouth of his. This was wrong - all so wrong. This is what got her into trouble in the first place.

And yet she kissed him back anyway.

It wasn’t the urgent, yet sweet desirous kisses from the bathroom of that dive bar a few nights ago – Jon kissed her like he meant to bruise and bite, bend and take. He kissed her like he was furious about the very fact that he was kissing her. And she loved it. A part of her wanted him to be mad – mad at her and mad _for_ her. She sunk her fingers into his hair and yanked on a fistful of it, making him grunt. They parted momentarily, she could see all the heat in his grey eyes staring back at her as they both panted a beat, maybe two, before diving right back in for more of the same.

She’s made this mistake once already. Will she ever learn?

Sansa bit down on his lip, making Jon hiss. He only pulled her tighter to him and it felt like her body instinctively knew every muscle, every hard plane of his as she moulded against him. “Fuckin’... gold-digger,” he murmured between hungry kisses. It felt like he was trying to pour himself into her tongue first, both their breathing becoming laboured as they kissed and pushed and pulled, and yanked and clawed. And in all of that – in all of his kiss, Sansa could forget the mess she’d already made with him. She’ll deal with that later. Right now there was only Jon with his hungry hands and hungry mouth and hard cock pressed against her thigh.

Somehow, Jon had manoeuvred her over to her vanity table, she felt the edge of it dig into the flesh of her ass as his hands roamed her body, palms gliding hurriedly over the silk of her negligee. Her robe is quickly pushed from her shoulders, fluttering to pool at her feet and Jon’s fingers find the zipper at her spine, yanking it too hard. There’s a tearing sound and Sansa gasps.

“Just suck on daddy’s dick, he’ll buy you a new one,” Jon murmured into the column of her throat. Sansa shoved him for that. There was a brief moment where it looked like remorse for his words passed over his eyes but they soon turned steely again. It didn’t matter. Sansa grabbed him by his shirt and yanked him back to her lips.

“You know,” she said moving to mouth and nibble along his neck, “I would sit on your face just so you’d shut up, but judging by last time, you’d enjoy that too much.”

Jon chuckled as he lifted her up to sit on her vanity, knocking over a couple of expensive perfume bottles. Sansa wrapped her legs around him as he leant in. “What can I say?” he said, grinning. “Mommy tastes so damn good.”

Sansa shoved at him again. “Don’t be so disgusting!”

Jon softly huffed out a breath, his eyes flitting between hers as he smirked down at her and began to lean back in for more kisses ever so slowly, daring her to stop him, knowing that she wouldn’t.

Gods damn him!

“Don’t be like that, darlin’,” he murmured, the devil in his eyes as he nipped at her stubborn lips, “I won’t tell daddy if you don’t.”

Urgh. She hated him. She hated him and she _wanted_ him.

“Just shut up and fuck me.”

Jon smirked. “Do you always get exactly what you want, princess? You just flick that pretty red hair of yours, wear a short skirt and suddenly old men like my dad fall at your feet, handing you their wallet?”

She shoved him yet again, hard this time, making him stumble back a step. Sansa hopped off from her precarious perch on the vanity table and pushed Jon square in the chest again. He glanced back, seeing that she was indeed forcing him to stumble backwards towards her bed. He grinned as he allowed himself to fall, landing with a bounce on her pristine sheets.

Her hands were fast and she didn’t stop to ask permission. Soon, she had undone his belt and jeans, rucking up the silk of her negligee and moving to straddle him as she freed his length.

“Sure do know how to make your new son feel welcome, don’t you, sweetheart?” Jon quipped.

One of Sansa’s hands covered his mouth, his breath feeling hot and his beard ticklish on her palm. “You’re done talking,” she told him, using her free hand to guide his cock where she wanted it. They groaned in unison as he filled her.

She knew he could stop her if he wanted – could pull her hand from his mouth and flip them so she was under him. But Jon didn’t do any of that. Instead, he lay there as she rode him like her life depended on it, eyes locked and his grip digging into her hips as he helped her along, panting under her palm.

After it was over, after he’d started to buck up into her, a grunt with every thrust, after she’d had tensed and tingled all over, Sansa collapsed beside him, both of them gazing up at her bedroom ceiling, trying to catch their breath, feeling her sweat at the small of her back and his cum on this inside of her thighs.

“What now?” Sansa asked, panting.

“Don’t worry. I don’t plan on draining your husband dry, if that’s what you think.” He sat up, breathing still laboured as he twisted his torso to look down at her. “I just need a little leg up, is all.” His gaze swept over her body, laying there completely wrung out, skin flushed like a burning sunset and feeling twice as hot. The way he looked at her made Sansa shiver. “Sansa, I-“ there was softness in his eyes – just a flash, before he shook himself of it. “I have to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! Sansa set out to sleep with Rhaegar to cover up her falling pregnant after having sex with Jon and ended up fucking Jon again instead - don't you just hate it when that happens?!?!


End file.
